Rowan

“I don't know what his problem is," I said as Michael and I left the school. "Why would he tell me to be careful if he hates my guts?"
"Because he doesn't hate your guts. I think he likes you." Michael was walking so fast I had to jog to keep up with him. "Isn't it obvious?”
― Michelle Rowen, Reign Check

“Bite me, Rhys.'

'Where?”
― Michelle Rowen, Reign Fall

“Is your future faery bride too ugly for you?”
Rhys leaned back against the head rest and studied the seat
back in front of him. “That’s not it.”
“Too old or too young?”
“No.”
I rolled my eyes, but smiled. This was why he was upset. He
hadn’t landed the perfect bride-to-be. “Her pretty faery wings
aren’t the right shade of sparkly lavender and pink?”
His eyes flashed with anger. “Actually, she doesn’t have faery
wings.”
“She doesn’t?”
“No. As a matter of fact, the dragon oracle tells me the girl I’m
supposed to marry, the one destined to someday become the queen
of the faery realm, isn’t a faery at all.”
Okay, that was surprising. Not a faery?
“She isn’t?” I said. “Then who is she?”
His expression was severe as he turned to look me right in the
eye.
“You,” he said”
― Michelle Rowen, Reign Check

“You dare speak to me in such an insolent manner?'

'Stop talking like you’re two hundred years old. You’re sixteen, just like me.”
― Michelle Rowen, Reign Fall